


chicago (take me there)

by AngelicSigils



Series: poems for dick winters [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Poetry, gay poetry about gay soldiers, i post a lot of poetry sorry heck, tw for implied concentration camps and antisemitism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:42:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSigils/pseuds/AngelicSigils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they were right, when they said war is hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chicago (take me there)

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy so this is my first finished work for band of brothers! i've got a hs au in the works but here u go (find me at lewisn1xon.tumblr.com)

i. he is the most beautiful thing in your world and you would follow him anywhere; leading comes naturally to him, but you’ve never followed anything. anyone. but you look at him and you know, you would follow him anywhere

ii. gunfire. all you can hear is gunfire, all you ever hear is gunfire. it shouldn’t be a surprise when the bullet hits but you are knocked off your feet, breath gone from your lungs. he is on you, now, immediately. you can see your name on his lips, _i’m alright_ , you say, _i’m alright_. but he’s still staring. _am i alright_? he says _yes_ , but you begin to doubt.

iii. _click clack click click clack_ , all you hear now, though gunshots still echo through your mind. (soon you will learn that they always will.)

iv. _we’re not in hell, it’s too damn cold_ , they joke, but you aren’t so sure. it was always said that war is hell. it’s all bad. almost all of it. your touch lingers too long, but you can blame it on how the cold has made your fingers numb. his touch lingers, too, but it’s only his own numb fingers.

v. they were right, when they said war is hell. but hell isn’t cold, hell smells like death, like the corpses you are ordered to bury. the tortured souls wear striped uniforms and yellow stars and anguished faces. that night you find him and cling to him, cry till you can’t do anything but listen to him murmur into your hair it’s _alright, it’s alright_ , but it’s not. and god, even when he lies he’s righteous.

  
vi. the war is over. he is still the most beautiful thing in your world and you would follow him anywhere, have followed him anywhere. he smiles at you and your heart stops like it does every time. he kisses you. asks you if you’ll take him to chicago. _yes_ , you say, _yes yes yes yes yes._


End file.
